


this modern love (ongoing)

by st_elsewhere



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Mutual Attraction, ads is a baker, ads knows who he wants and he moves quick, aka whipped lmaooo, all the fangirls flooding their instagram lol, hendo is captain and overwhelmed, imagine the headline, jordan never dates a guy before, never a footballer, pr0n later on i hope
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-22 10:31:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7433007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_elsewhere/pseuds/st_elsewhere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>they meet at french connection's summer wear photoshoot.<br/><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. rated G

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  i am obsessed. shoutout to @Booperesque who showed me the wonder of hendollana. dude, your ads-scrambling-on-his-knees pr0n is coming. no pun yo. big thanks.  
>   
>   
> kudos and comments make me update faster ~~lol rly~~.  
>   
>  please enjoy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ah, technology. o, social media. even football players understand the importance of engaging with their fans from all over the planet via social media. sure jordan owns instagram and a facebook fanpage of his own, but what is this _snapchat_ thingy? is it a short video platform? why does james seem to be so at ease handling french connection's official snapchat account for the past half hour? what is the _point_ of snapchat?

jordan looks up when he hears the-now-familiar-i-swear-i'm-not-creeping giggle echoing through the brightly lit studio. at least the summer collection he's wearing; a pastel colored orange (!) t-shirt, above-the-knee denim, and a pair of black sneakers are cooling him enough even if he's donned more makeup than necessary. he hopes he doesn't smudge the thankfully not cakey foundation as he covers up his act of stealing glances with a hand rubbing at his chin.

ah, technology. ye can't do justice to a certain fair man's beauty! what a blasphemy!

adam 'baker prince' lallana is still giggling by the time jordan averts his totally not creepy glance back to his cellphone. he wants to update his instagram because a photoshoot with a sponsor is important. the team will be seen walking around in french connection's summer collection for a couple of months, and as the captain jordan should be the first to update anything that involves sponsorship.

except that jordan has to fight a very _persistent_ urge to capture adam 'england's sweetheart' lallana and immortalize the surprisingly short figure in his instagram, instead of posting important sponsored selfie or wefie together with his teammates.

even though to be fair... not that it would be weird, considering adam 'the public figure you're sure is a secret freak in bed' lallana is french connection's surprising brand ambassador since last year. surprising because everyone in the whole england knew about his endearing story thanks to BBC food and travel network broadcasting a brief profile of family owned bakery at the south of liverpool, where adam and his gorgeous eyes and perfect hair and shy smile was the proud 4th generation owner serving university students and old ladies their daily dose of bread and pastry.

anyway.

adam lallana. the most lethal distraction in jordan henderson's twenty five years of living and this is just a photoshoot. imagine having adam on the spectator tribune, watching him dribbling and shouting orders. jordan would volunteer to tackle himself just so he can get off of the pitch and probably hide.

hyperbolic and slightly hysterical tendency aside, jordan is dead serious about adam lallana being his biggest distraction to date.

jordan could lie to himself about adam lallana's surprisingly short figure _not_ affecting him in the slightest because on telly adam lallana had seemed about average height, not pocket-sized and/or of perfect angle for jordan to kiss! or jordan could also lie to himself about adam lallana's lush looking sandy colored hair _not_ screaming at him to _just touch meeeee and feel it for yourself, hendo!! i'm just as soft as the rest of the man who's distracting youuuUu~_ or jordan could convince his brain that his blood is not stirring in the _slightest_ because adam lallana's slim ankles are teasing everyone's eyes as they're on display (whoever it is dressing adam lallana in a pair of ankle-length navy blue chino deserves a medal).

jordan could keep lying to himself if it's not for james appearing out of nowhere and grinning behind a samsung, cheering sarcastically,

"look! our captain!"

jordan smiles to james and makes a gesture to block the cellphone's camera.

"hey, no, it's for FCUK's instagram, come on, give us a pose." james nods and takes a step back, lowering his hands to get a better angle, jordan hopes.

jordan gives a thumb-up but james makes a disapproving face. jordan raises his eyebrows and crosses his arms, but again james is pouting his lips in disapproval.

"what do you want me to do?" jordan chuckles, rubbing at his chin, hunching a little. a photoshoot introducing liverpool new kits sure is different than this, huh?

"oh, i don't know," james says, suddenly his voice is a pitch higher. "why don't we ask adam? better yet—" he continues _yelling_ as jordan realizes that adam lallana has been _looking_ at them for a while, standing next to philippe and dejan, and jordan might or might not be frozen when his eyes meet adam lallana's gorgeous either-light-brown-or-amber eyes, "—adam! mate, c'mere and give our captain a modeling 101!"

adam lallana does this very, _very_ cute not-shrug before he goes to stand next to jordan with a shy smile and jordan just can't stop trying to determine what is the color of adam lallana's eyes.

which translates as him staring.

most probably _creepily_.

james is still holding up the cellphone.

"you met hendo, right, mate?" james asks jordan's biggest distraction easily, like they've been friends forever.

"yeah, hi. adam lallana," adam lalla— _adam_ —says, tilting his neck up and his eyes are definitely a shade of amber. "nice to meet you, captain." jordan shakes the offered hand. it's so smooth wow.

"but, is it hendo or jordan?" adam's voice is so soft wow.

"jordan is fine." jordan mimics the shorter man's relaxed stance and marvels at the fact that if he dared to just lean in slightly he could kiss adam's bow-shaped full lips.

he's saved from further _destruction of myself: an autobiography_ , by james cheering, "thanks folks, i got it." and after saying that, he walks away from them.

"what the..." jordan can't even finish his sentence when he gets a new notification. grimacing at adam who just smiles and does his very, very cute not-shrug, jordan takes a look at his cellphone.

 

**jmilly7 tagged you in a photo: "Flirting on set ;) @FCUK @jhenderson @officiallallana"**

 

someone is making a very, _very_ cute sound that's similar to a laugh and a whine and jordan's heart skips a beat because of course it is adam.

"we do look like we're flirting," adam comments and when he looks up from his own cellphone, his eyes are sparkling. "notice the relaxed stance."

right. mirrored body language equals flirting. jordan abruptly shifts on his left leg, changing his stance. he can feel the unreasonable hotness on his cheeks as he snorts/laughs.

adam smiles.

"i don't mind."

"don't mind what?" jordan parrots, mocking his intelligence. his palms are sweating.

"if everyone in instagram thinks we're flirting."

"wait, are we?"

"if you want."

 

 

 

 

 


	2. meet cute~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  ads who?  
> 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

pre-season means holiday and even more photoshoots. more cameras taping the whole team for liverpool’s official youtube channel and website. don’t forget the social medias. liverpool just launched their very own snapchat and studge has been on it almost 24/7. his ‘story’ gets more views than james’, unless james mentions something about jordan and things that aren’t even liverpool related.

liverpool doesn’t go to the pre-season tour to the US this year, and so the PR team created a schedule for first team’s social media activities. jordan is up for the twitter takeover after joe this saturday; liverpool fans from around the globe can send their questions via twitter.

they use the smaller conference room to film him picking and answering questions then broadcasting it live on the website and on twitter timeline. the youtube version usually will be uploaded a couple of days later. the promotions have been set all over their twitter, instagram, facebook, and of course the highlight of it all; snapchat.

today jordan wears the new balance training kit and his eyes look even bluer on screen.

“you’re filming this? me asking you how do i do this?” jordan asks alan, the one in charge of liverpool’s video content. alan’s voice won’t be recorded in the video so it will appear like the usual; a one-way conversation between jordan and the camera. he had a briefing before the actual filming anyway. he’s memorized his lines.

“anyway, hullo.” jordan smiles to the camera, waving the hand holding the ipad. “i’m jordan henderson and this is twitter takeover.”

they begin the first segment. “here’s the deal; i will pick three questions in this segment, choose _one_ to be my favorite, then the winner will get my signed kit!” jordan nods to the camera, smiling and probably puffing out his chest a little. “we will have three segments, which means three signed kits. keep the questions coming, ladies and gentlemen.”

the first segment goes on smoothly. jordan picks a teenage boy’s question about ‘who is his favorite disney princess’ as the winner of his signed kit because @razorsharpe_ put a picture of himself with his little sister dressed as ariel. that’s just so sweet.

on to the second segment, overwhelmed by the amount of people throwing him serious questions like _who should they sign for this season_ (five of them) and _why the hell can’t you manage your injuries better_ (eight similar questions but with colorful curses each jesus christ)—jordan blurts out one random question from a seemingly sane twitter account, grimacing to the camera, ignoring alan’s look of sympathy.

“@kopgirl8 asks... _‘hendo how’s ads doing?’_ ” and jordan has to pause. he blinks. “‘ads’? who?” he glances up to alan, and alan makes a confused face as well, gesturing with his hands to just move on to other questions.

jordan mutters an apology, going back to the ipad. “sorry, m’lady, i don’t know wha—uh. hi again @kopgirl8. _‘omg @baker_ads ! we want 2 know how was ur date liek???’_ um.” without knowing what he’s really doing, jordan visits the mentioned account, accidentally showing every liverpudlian out there _what’s happening_ , since the ipad is interconnected to the camera, and they’re broadcasting the twitter takeover _live_.

@baker_ads is adam lallana, and as stated on his twitter profile; owner of 129th sovereign street lallana bakery, FCUK brand ambassador, liverpool fc supporter, and your friendly neighbor :)

right.

jordan is just about to get over his initial confusion when @baker_ads delivers a new tweet. of course, not knowing that the ipad is broadcasting his activity live to whoever is tuning in, jordan clicks the new tweet.

hmm. oh.

jordan doesn’t ask for alan’s permission to read the tweet out loud. “ _‘@baker_ads hi jordan, remember me? sorry you don’t have twitter but i was online so’._ hey, adam. i’m good. i mean, i remember you. so glad that you’re also here with fellow liverpool fans. tweet me a question if you want, like—”

alan is flailing his arms, almost dancing like a monkey to get jordan’s attention back to him. jordan makes a face, cuts off his rambling for @baker_ads with another grimace, and chooses a random question about what he anticipates for the 2016/2017 season instead.

 

 

 

twitter takeover mishap aside, his session was a blast. all in all, he got total 135 questions for the three segments.

later that night, jordan gets a text from veronica, one of the club’s social media coordinators. she’s telling him that @baker_ads aka adam lallana, had pm’ed (what’s pm’ed?) @liverpoolfc, asking for jordan’s number. veronica says it’s up to jordan whether he’s willing to give adam his number, because she can arrange something so they don’t have to reply to adam’s pm ( _private message_ , according to google) on twitter because it’s a risk no one is willing to take.

jordan calls her. it’s late, but veronica is a friend.

“good evening, veronica. thanks for telling me. you can give adam my number, yeah? no worries about it.” veronica is an efficient girl. young but not bubbly. quite ambitious. _hot_ , in a way. she hums and answers,

“alright, hendo. i’ll get in touch with his manager or himself. i will personally tell your number to him. sounds good?” she sneezes, voice distanced from the phone. “sorry.”

“it’s okay. also, that sounds good. hey, do you want me to get you chicken soup from costa tomorrow? i can stop by first time in the morning.”

“that’d be nice, yes please. thank you, hendo. see you tomorrow.”

   

✖

   

today is jordan’s free day. he eats breakfast with veronica in the cafeteria; she wears a crisp white polo shirt and a trendy lavender colored tennis skirt. her wavy black hair is up in a loose ponytail. the lenses of her glasses have scratches. she smells like... lavender and vanilla, if jordan could guess. when she smiles because jordan buys her a big slice of red velvet cake, the corners of her brown eyes crinkle. jordan could kiss her, but he doesn’t.

he has veronica’s number. when he’s not so unsure, so hesitant, so lonely, he will ask her out for a date. it’s been awhile. his last girlfriend dumped him because ‘it didn’t work out’ between them. and that was... what, earlier last year? heh.

he’s just fumbling to get his car keys when his phone rings. whose number is this? jordan waits until the fourth buzzes before he picks up.

“hello?”

“hi, jordan? it’s me, adam lallana.”

jordan drops the keys. he almost injures (ha ha) his head against the hood of his suv as he scrambles to get them. it’s comical how he straightens up, looks around for teammates or worse, journalists or fans roaming around anfield’s parking lot, thanks god and jesus that no one sees him, before he stutters,

“h-hey. ‘alo.”

adam laughs, relieved. “hi! i asked for your number and veronica gave me. i hope it’s okay with you.”

jordan squints to liverpool’s summer sky.

“no problem at all. how are you?”

there’s a strange lilt when adam responds to the mundane question, like either he is foreseeing it or he’s uncontrollably fond of what he selfishly perceived of jordan’s predictable answer. if jordan is not totally being ridiculous, he would have sworn he hears adam _whining_.

“listen, i cook killer lasagna and today’s special is lemon tart. how about we have lunch in my place?”

jordan pulls his phone away from his left ear, stares at it, looks up to the sky, hurts his eyes, and says, “um. what’s the address?”

 

 

 

129th sovereign street lies in liverpool’s suburb. it’s quite a long drive. jordan can see a long road with nothing but green fields on its left and right, but lallana bakery is just right before that. he passed sainsbury and boots on his way to the neighborhood. cars are most notably sparse here, though there are a significant amount of elderly walking around together or sitting in groups outside a number small cafes serving top grade (?) coffee and hearty meals.

lallana bakery situates right next to a bookshop and a bike repair shop. the bakery’s bricks are painted in pastel blue, the others are yellow and red. inside, adam is wiping a round table. three young girls are enjoying colorful smoothies and rainbow cakes, busy with their phones and taking selfies.

the girls pay him no mind when he enters with a tinker from the bell.

adam looks up, his pastel blue colored apron is smudged with white flour and chocolate and _sprinkles_.

“you made it!” adam smiles, his strange-colored eyes are crinkling in the corners. his white shirt has navy blue breast pocket and his short chinos are in a darker shade of terra cotta. he really does look like a friendly neighbor, jordan thinks, contemplating to one-arm hug him, but decides to nod awkwardly instead.

“please, sit down.” adam pulls out a tiny chair, and jordan really can’t kick out the awkwardness he feels for existing in such... dainty and pretty place. the three girls are expected to frequent lallana bakery, and so did the old ladies from the BBC food and travel network documentary. the bakery smells amazing with _tiny_ round tables and _tiny_ chair, all made from wood. the sophisticated decoration is girly, somehow. everything is pastel colored, like a toned-down alice in wonderland. look at the arrays of colorful macaroons!

“jordan?” damn, _look_ at the owner himself! very soft and smiley, like a pastel color personified. “you’re early. would you like to get anything? it’s on the house.”

“i, uh.” jordan frowns, tilts his head to the display counter, and he’s saved by one of the young girls, a redhead about sixteen or twenty two, there’s no way to tell nowadays because of how thick her makeup is—who asks him,

“hi, sir, would you help us? we want to take a photo with adam here. thank you.” and she hands him over her latest iphone, her two friends giggling and making moony eyes at adam.

“jasmine! don’t you know who he is?” adam tuts at her like a good neighbor should. probably knows her parents or something. jasmine just shakes her head and pulls adam to stand in the middle. clearly her two friends are a fan because she seems less giddy than them. “he’s jordan henderson, liverpool’s captain! y’know, after this you should take a selfie with him. then ask for his autograph. billy is liverpool’s fan, remember? that might come in handy~”

jasmine blushes as jordan presses the shutter button. she protests that she’s not ready and that jordan takes a bad photo. right.

“alright, missy, one... twooo...” jordan makes sure that jasmine, adam, and her two friends are pose-ready and photogenic enough before he takes a photo. adam has his ripped arms (hmm? wait, _what_?) on each of jasmine’s friends shoulders.

“okay, another one.” then he snaps another, and another, and another using jasmine’s friends samsung and iphone.

“do you want me to—” adam gestures to jordan and jasmine, and is jasmine rolling her eyes? she poses with jordan first then her friends tag along. jordan bends a little to match their heights, and he signs jasmine’s vanilla scented handkerchief, probably for this billy boy that made her blush cutely. girls sure love to smell like vanilla, huh?

the girls bid goodbye, cheerful like summer, still giggling and holding their phones tightly. when jordan was sixteen like them, all he thought about was football and alexa sanders.

anyway.

“was that everyday occurrence?” jordan turns to find adam is staring at him and the shorter man—wow jordan completely forgets adam _is not_ tall—doesn’t flinch at being caught.

“well, it’s summer break.” adam smiles, softly, keeping their eye contact. his eye color is really confusing. “says the captain of liverpool.”

jordan can’t help his proud grin as he sits down. “you handle them better, to be completely honest.”

adam raises his eyebrows. “yeah?”

“yeah.” jordan nods, not knowing what to say next. the silence that follows is awkward. it seems like he’s missing a very big point by visiting an acquaintance—him and adam are not exactly friends—after being invited out of the blue. hell, jordan didn’t even bring something for adam! he’s pretty sure he’s forgetting an important point about all of _this,_ but he can’t tell himself _what_.

“so! since you came early, what will you have? on the house.” adam claps his hands, raising his voice an octave. “the sauce is not ready yet. after it’s done, we only have to wait fifty minutes. just in time for lunch.”

jordan doesn’t feel like eating bread or something sweet. he loves lemon tart, though.

“i’ll have tea.”

“just tea?”

“yes, i want to have your killer lasagna so bad.”

“aww!” adam scrunches his nose and does this half-shrug, which ends up looking like he’s _swooning_ , and that’s really, really cute. “i have darjeeling and... um... pomegranate. which one?”

“i tried pomegranate once. i liked it.” jordan adds when adam speeds up to get behind the counter where the coffee machine and tea pots and plastic/paper cups are. “just one teaspoon of sugar, please.”

adam boils the kettle. he prepares what he needs to make a pot of tea and says in a teasing tone, “you’re so polite.”

jordan snorts. he has this strange mindset that he’s not to laugh out loud in here. he’ll shake off the pastel atmosphere. “don’t forget i’m the captain of liverpool.”

“does the captain of liverpool fancy going to a state fair?” adam asks as he puts two sets of pastel (!) green cups on the table, his eyes are hopeful when jordan meets them for confirmation.

“are you asking me out on a date?” jordan can’t remember himself being _this_ _bold_ for twenty five years. not that he gets asked out on a date by _men_ at all, really.

this is new.

adam does his cute half-shrug and scrunches his nose. “second date, if you will.”

“oh?” jordan smiles, impressed by the honesty. is this what adam meant with ‘instagram flirting’ from last week?

wait.

“if you want, of course,” adam laughs, softly. again. “i mean, you’ve never tried _going out_ with a guy before, right?” he’s biting his bottom lip. he really shouldn’t do that, jordan thinks.

“no, no i haven’t. how do you—hah. let me guess. google?” he remembers it now; the nagging feeling in the back of his head about all of _this_. about adam entertaining the idea of them flirting on the set of french connection’s summer wear photoshoot. this is _it_.

adam nods. “you had a very interesting interview with the daily mail a couple of years back, before you replaced steven gerrard.”

jordan wishes adam would stop biting his bottom lip, because it’s distracting him.

“jordan?” adam’s face turns unsure for the first time since _last_ week because jordan is not answering him. “is it okay with you? i mean.”

“no. no, i mean it’s okay. it’s fine. i’m flattered.” jordan holds up a thumb and regrets his life choice. a thumbs up. what the hell! “i, uh, i can go to a state fair date, for sure.”

“next friday sounds good to you?” adam clasps his hands in front of his chest and his smile looks shy, somehow. it’s a good thing that he’s not doing his half-shrug or else jordan might be do something unspeakable like grabbing his waist then kissing him.

but just like with veronica earlier, jordan doesn’t do anything.

   

✖

   

his selfie with adam currently has 9, 893 likes and 503 comments and jordan posted it about three hours ago. the comments are dominated by caps lock and some weird phrasings like _‘OMGGG THE SHIP SAILS ITSELF’_ or _‘told ya to ship it  @friend1 @friend2 @friend3 @friend4 dammit their so cute? HENDOS HAIRY ARM ON ADS NECKKKKK'_ —like, ship as in the ocean ship like titanic or a yacht? jordan is too lazy to google it to find out.

   

✖

   

**jmilly7 mentioned you in a comment: the fuck mate?? u went to his place? IWANT RECEIPT CALL ME**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  tag yourself; are you james or @kopgirl8 or veronica? ~~(which is actually zayn malik because veronica = best song ever i'm gay for zayn not veronica 25/7).~~
> 
>  
> 
> so. plz tell me whachu think because did you see snippets of jordan's lyfe? did you get me writing him as boring as his iconic _'busy busy busy'_ answer on new balance video with ads and rickie lambert? what do you want to see on chapter 3? hit me up ↓ ↓ ↓  
>   
>   
>   
> 

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  the half-shrug that made ~~me and~~ jordan smitten.  
> 


End file.
